At Last: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Anne Morris

  There was a landed gentry family with daughters—though he was not certain of their dowries yet—by the name of Bennet which were purported beauties so he had come with an eye out for them. He had not been disappointed. They were lithe and beautiful, to be sure. There was a tall, dark and willowy one who was quite captivating and not as wide-eyed as the young and wild one, Miss Lydia, who seemed to have never been in a ballroom before or been out in society. Lydia seemed quite like a rabbit in the sights of his gun, twitching and twittery, a creature of prey, but far too young. Then an elegant and curvaceous figure had approached and rounded the two of them up and whisked them away. She had not really spoken directly to him and seemed more interested in directing the activities of her sisters, but Miss Elizabeth Bennet had a charm he could not explain, so he had noted who she spoke with and with whom she danced.

  To his surprise, his old friend—who never danced if he could help it—sought her out specifically after his own colonel did. Apparently, other men found her grace equally as compelling. Wickham decided he had to know more about Elizabeth Bennet and had solicited a dance (specifically the supper dance) with her.

  He had noticed, having skipped those sets, that Darcy admired her. She, however, did not admire the gentleman. George Wickham thought that odd; most women were blinded by Darcy's wealth and his position, and yet here was a young woman who regularly frowned at Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy rather than flirted with him. He immediately thought that she would be a good ally to begin unfolding his story to, with whom to plant his seeds of discontent. Wickham was incredibly happy to see Darcy with ruffled feathers for once. He could imagine what Meryton society would be saying about his old friend in the coming week. He hoped it might actually drive Darcy away.

  George had been scared and unsure when he had considered coming to the Netherfield ball, unsure of what to say to his fellow officers as to an excuse to skip it, should he stay away, but he was feeling more and more pleased now that he had danced with his targeted lady, and sat with her at dinner. He had watched her as she stood lost in thought when the dancing had recommenced after supper, and could only imagine she was considering everything he had told her, digesting it, and preparing to pass it on to her friends and family. He was clever, he thought to himself, infinitely clever.

  • • •

  Jane stayed by Elizabeth's side the rest of the night. No one came to ask her to dance though Captain Carter came to solicit Elizabeth for a second set which she gently refused, claiming exhaustion. Both sisters now wished only for an end of the evening. The two watched their host as he led a litany of the single ladies of Meryton to the dance floor; it seemed a random sort of selection, he chose the next lady as he escorted his current partner to the side, or to a seat, or to the refreshment table. He did not come speak to Jane again, and she obviously felt some slight after having had his full attentions the entire first half of the evening.

  Elizabeth was incensed at Mr. Darcy's interference. She could understand that Mr. Bingley had to play host and minister to his guests, but she could only assume he had been so chastised by his friend about his attentions to Jane, that Mr. Bingley was now taking the extreme approach, and appeared so chastened that he was avoiding Jane altogether.

  It did not help that Mrs. Bennet had noticed—the other matrons had happily pointed out Mr. Bingley's actions to her—and their mother was quite vocal about his now sudden change of heart. Elizabeth simply prayed for the Bennet carriage to come and take them all home. They were to once again go in two trips, but when the carriage came for the first set of Bennets, Jane was ready, though Mrs. Bennet wished to maneuver her to stay as long as possible. Jane was resolute, however, and she, Elizabeth and Mr. Bennet, along with Mary, rode home leaving the other three to stay however long they wished.

  • • •

  She stole away, and he did not see her go. Her mother, Mrs. Bennet, somehow had it arranged that they were the last to leave. Their carriage was delayed in returning for them, said the mother. She was coarse and could not stop talking even though she, her host, and hostess, and everyone around them was tired; Mrs. Bennet must always be speaking. It was only her and two of the daughters left at the end. The girls looked pale and sad and ready to sleep, though on their feet. One even complained, "La! How tired I am," and Miss Bingley agreed that she too was exhausted. But still, Mrs. Bennet rambled on about the evening and how exquisite it was, and how everyone enjoyed themselves, but most of all, how much the Bennet family had enjoyed themselves.

  "We shall have to have you over for a small family dinner now, Mr. Bingley," she said and winked at his friend, actually winked at him. Darcy could not comprehend the woman. At last, the carriage came and took them away.

  There was far too much to occupy his mind and his hands found his instrument in an attempt to soothe what seethed inside. George Wickham was living but two miles away. He had joined the militia—somehow—and would, no doubt, be spreading lies about him. Darcy wondered if he had already begun to do so. What tale, which of the many ones was he telling, which one had he woven to Miss Bennet as they had sat at supper? It pained Darcy, and he felt a cramping in his gut that grew and moved up to his shoulders, then down to his fingers, and his violin screeched with an evil sound. He pulled it from beneath his chin with a sigh.

  He had tentatively discussed leaving Netherfield for London earlier that evening. It had been what he had been wishing for since Darcy had first set foot in the county, and here he had reasons, real reasons, to push his young friend to go, and yet to leave Elizabeth Bennet behind would be difficult. She had become a creature that haunted his thoughts in ways that made no sense; he began to believe she was dangerous to him. With Bingley being unsure of his intentions towards Miss Jane, and with Wickham's unwelcome presence so near he must go. It would be efficacious for Darcy to have distance from Elizabeth Bennet, just as it would be for Bingley to have distance from Jane Bennet. He tucked his violin back under his chin and returned to playing, his fingers once again able to coax a delightful sound from the instrument.

  • • •

  Caroline was delighted with the idea of the trip to London. Though Bingley stated it was simply to run down for a short trip for the races with his friend Smythe, Caroline knew they would not be returning as her brother supposed. She went to the bother of ensuring that the house was closed up for the winter while they were away, and she worked diligently with Mrs. Nicholls to see that everything was taken care of so they need not think of Netherfield Hall once they all came away. Louisa was happy to be dictated to, since she had been happy to consider her brother's house her own home—though Hurst did have a small house of his own in London—and she helped with the necessary correspondence in saying their goodbyes to the local residents.

  In a far shorter amount of time than Mr. Charles Bingley supposed, he and his house party left behind his leased estate, and headed to London, most of them knowing they would not be returning for months, if ever.

  The note from Miss Bingley to Jane detailing their plans to quit Hertfordshire for the winter included little hints about the society they would be seeking, including hints that Georgiana Darcy, Mr. Darcy's beloved sister would be there as well, and that she held a special place in Mr. Bingley's heart. Jane took the little hints to mean that there was an expectation between the two parties and that Miss Bingley was giving Jane a warning, as she suspected Jane's feelings for Mr. Bingley.

  But Elizabeth argued that they, like Mr. Darcy, looked down on their family and their corner of the world, and Miss Bingley wished for her twin to make a spectacular match that she might benefit from it herself. Elizabeth wondered that Caroline Bingley had never set her sights on Mr. Darcy as his wealth was such a prize. Perhaps gentlemen of ten thousand a year were common occurrences in London, but not so in Hertfordshire. They seemed a companionable pair, comfortable with each other, and Elizabeth thought it odd that they had never considered each other as partners in life, though Mr. Darcy was such an arrogant man that El
izabeth could not understand any woman wishing to marry him.

  Mr. Wickham became better-known, especially among the young ladies; his charm, good manners and handsome face were general topics of conversation in most drawing rooms. His society was much sought after, and every one of the Longbourn family was pleased that they saw him frequently. The whole of his story, which he had related to Elizabeth at the ball, was also discussed in Meryton parlors, and many of the neighbors were pleased with themselves in considering how much they had disliked Mr. Darcy before knowing about all the evils he had wrought on Mr. Wickham. Many congratulated themselves on their cleverness at being so discerning.

  The letter from Miss Bingley about their departure caused Mrs. Bennet to bewail such an unlucky thing as the timing of their going away just as they had all become such good friends. The matron seemed to place no reliance on the fact that it said the entire party had gone away and was to settle in London for Christmas, as Mrs. Bennet argued that she had invited Mr. Bingley to dinner, and he had agreed to come, so he must come back and fulfill that obligation. Jane and Elizabeth felt that he was only being polite, it was an attempt on his part to make some sort of conversation and said so.

  "But you two were not there, you silly girls, you insisted on leaving early. I am sure he meant to come when I asked him, and come he shall one day," said Mrs. Bennet. She remained animated about the subject for all of November and insisted every morning when she came down after her breakfast that this day would be the day that he would return, but it never was.

  9

  —

  Horrid Murder

  The Bennet family, such as those that decided to eat their breakfast at the table, sat and talked of indifferent things that December morning. No doubt, Mrs. Bennet was upstairs with her tray on her lap planning for the arrival in a few weeks of her brother and sister-in-law, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, and how to best entertain them. She was occupied with ensuring the best meals and the best society for her visiting family. The Bennet daughters talked of the same rehashed news that morning—there was nothing new occurring in Meryton—and even Elizabeth was in attendance as it was another rainy morning, and she forwent her walk and remained inside.

  Mr. Bennet had finished his breakfast. He frequently came to the table first and then sat and like the master of the house that he was, watched the other occupants at their meal and listened, sometimes surreptitiously, sometimes boldly, to their conversations. There was no news from London from Jane's new friends, those sisters who had stayed at Netherfield Hall, and had seemed so taken with Jane back in the fall. It had been over a month now after that one short letter had come for Jane saying that they were all going to London. What was really troubling her, though, was the loss of the brother; she had fallen in love, but Mr. Bingley had gone away without saying anything of his own feelings to her. It saddened, no it hurt Mr. Bennet, to see his sweetest and most tenderhearted daughter be so pained over the loss of her lover, but he had no solution to offer her besides taking Jane to London. And there was no way he would ever leave Longbourn.

  Mary had a book before her. Catherine and Elizabeth were speaking about Colonel Forster's marriage which was to occur after the New Year. Everyone had been so surprised as he appeared to have admired Miss King for a number of weeks, then had gone on a journey and come back engaged to another lady. It was all very interesting and had provided them with many hours of conversation since their friends at Netherfield had left and did not appear to be returning.

  Lydia had decided not to come down that morning, apparently, and Mr. Bennet looked with a fond smile at his progeny before him, then picked up the broadsheet from London and began to read over the news. The London Gazette had headlines that chilled him: there was news that included the murder of a three month old. He could only sit and ponder such a horror. He wondered how the poor serving girl fared, the poor lass that apparently missed being brutally murdered only because she had been sent out at midnight to run errands which included fetching a treat for an ailing mistress. Mr. Bennet could not comprehend who would orchestrate such a horrible attack. Surely, if a man was going to rob another, he would take the money and leave quickly, and not take the time to attack all the occupants of a house? Mr. Bennet could not make sense of the horrible nighttime atrocities that took the lives of four people.

  "What is wrong, Papa?" asked Elizabeth, and he looked over at her, apparently his face had betrayed his thoughts.

  "The news is especially horrendous," he answered and folded his broadsheet. "I will not read it anymore. It is why I will not live in London and choose not to visit."

  "Napoleon? Politics? Crime?" she asked.

  He shook his head, "I will not speak of it," and he took his newspaper, stood up, and left the room.

  • • •

  The London Gazette was factual in its coverage of the events on the Ratcliffe Highway; there were other broadsheets that covered the events in greater and far more sensational detail. There were some in Meryton who subscribed to these penny press sheets, or had them sent by friends or relatives in London as news about the attack and murders on the Ratcliffe Highway moved about Meryton, no matter how much some might wish for their daughters or wives not to hear of it. Some of those wives were the very ones who took those broadsheets around with them when visiting their friends to whisper over the details, to wonder if such a horror might happen in Meryton, and to be thankful for their small village; for some small degree of comfort, though they all were extra cautious about locking their doors at night.

  Mrs. Bennet heard about the horror from her own sister, Mrs. Philips, and took to her bed for the rest of the day with a fit of nerves. Her daughters were able to convince her to leave her room the next day, but she fretted excessively for a number of days, wringing her hands and clasping her chest, and could not return to her planning for the Gardiner's Christmas visit. She fussed about the house, refused to let either Elizabeth or Catherine go for their daily walks without a footman in attendance, and refused to allow Simon out of the house entirely, which left poor Miss Simnel having to deal with the high energy of a young boy cooped up inside for days. Even a sermon by Reverend Mead about not giving in to hysterics and fear did nothing to calm a number of the ladies in town—including Mrs. Bennet—who refused to not simply image that gangs would shortly be traveling up from London to murder them all in their beds.

  The press covered nothing but the Ratcliffe Highway murders for the next week, and the fact that there was no robbery involved kept the embers of those fears flamed. There had been over one hundred and fifty pounds in cash found on the Marr Family premises untouched, and almost in plain sight, a fact that shocked people as so often robbery was perceived as the principle motive for any crime. And the respectable nature of the family was much talked about. A hard-working man, Timothy Marr, his wife, Celia, and their infant son, had all been brutally murdered, their heads bashed in, and their throats slashed. And the poor apprentice, James Gowan, had been so beaten his brains covered the entire room of his master's workshop.

  That the serving girl had walked by the house on her errands from one lane to another in her short time away from the house—less than a half hour—and had seen her master at a window, meant that the murderer had been quick and brutal in coming into the house to do the deed and then to flee, apparently, when Margaret Jewell, the servant girl, had come home to a locked door and pounded on it asking to be let in, only to find that there was no one alive. The night watchman had heard her cries, as did a neighbor, and between the two men they had discovered the bodies, the horrific scene within, and called the River Thames Police force.

  In the week since the attack there had been the arrest of three sailors who had been questioned and released as having alibis, for it turned out that Timothy Marr had once sailed in his younger days, and the sailors had been in the area that evening. His other apprentice, who did not live-in, was also questioned, and a Marr brother with whom Timothy Marr had quarreled, was also questioned
but there were no true leads.

  The funeral of the four victims was a well-publicized event, and the bodies were led on a large procession through the streets of London in front of huge crowds before finally being interred. Ultimately, after almost a week and a half, there were no leads by the police though the public, both in London and well outside of Town, still thought of nothing else.

  • • •

  Mrs. Gardiner wrote to her sister-in-law to say she was going to bring the children with her. The Gardiners had originally planned to come for a se'ennight visit and to leave the children in London with their governess, nursery staff, and a household of servants. But Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were both understandably concerned about leaving their children in London, especially when one considered the proximity of Gracechurch Street to the Ratcliffe Highway and the scene of the crime—just over a mile. Mrs. Bennet was normally not as fond of visits from her nieces and nephews, and preferred such visits to occur when the weather meant they could spend a great amount of time out of doors, but the recent news softened her heart to the Gardiners' progeny and their visit. It would simply mean a very full household—especially in the nursery—but as the brunt of the noise and bother were to be borne by Miss Simnel and Simon in being put upon for space, it was all arranged between the two households.

  Mrs. Bennet still fluttered about Longbourn in agitated spirits, smelling salts in her pocket, and relying entirely on her daughters for the planning of the Gardiners' visit and their Christmas plans. She began to appeal to Mr. Bennet to take them all away from Meryton or Hertfordshire altogether. Her health was suffering daily; her nerves—her heart—she was sure, would never recover as she thought Meryton too near to London and the horrors.

  Every day in the paper and the penny press sheets there were new details of the crime, descriptions of the brutality of the murders, sketches of the scenes, and when she read an account that the infant Timothy Marr, a babe but fourteen weeks old, had both his head bashed in and his throat cut so horribly that he had been nearly decapitated, she would no longer take no for an answer, and insisted that Mr. Bennet plan to take the entire family away as soon as the Gardiners' visit concluded.